


Copy and Paste

by Synesthesia_Demon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Penis Friday, Penises, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Sex, Webcams, more porn, recording porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synesthesia_Demon/pseuds/Synesthesia_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to "Married to Work", or rather, a continuation. There is porn, and it is tasty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copy and Paste

“'Yeah, well', John?” Sherlock smirked. “Nothing more articulate? I must have done a number on you.”

 

“Shut up, prat.”

 

“ _Jo-ohn_ ,” he responded in a sing-song voice. “You're still tied up, I'm still in control, I wouldn't risk that if I were you.”

 

He opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. He pursed his lips, lost in his curiosity. What could be on Sherlock's mind, he couldn't say, but he wondered what level of creativity he was working with. He was already tied down, and he'd already brought out the vibrator. Perhaps the crop? John shuddered inwardly; no matter how many times it had (probably) been disinfected, the idea of it having been used on a corpse or two was quite the turn-off. But there were always alternatives...

 

“Curious, John?”

 

John's head snapped up to meet his quick glance before Sherlock bent back to his laptop. “What makes you think that?”

 

“You were licking your lips again.”

 

John blushed, rolled his eyes, and didn't respond.

 

“Call me a 'prat' one more time, and then you'll know for certain what I'm thinking of doing to you.” His eyes narrowed while his grin widened. “It's quite all right. It will surely happen today, either now or later. Your move.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

Sherlock shrugged and turned back to his laptop. “Suit yourself.”

 

John watched him type away, throwing himself into his work, without even glancing back at John. Part of him marveled at his self-control; he knew that if the roles were reversed, he'd never be able to keep his hands off Sherlock. The other part of him was rather irritated at the fact that Sherlock was completely ignoring him, as if he weren't there at all. The temptation to call him out on it niggled at the front of his mind, but he resisted. He would not give Sherlock the satisfaction...or at least that's what he wanted to believe of himself.

 

Sherlock's phone buzzed and he snatched it from his pocket. He pursed his lips, tapped out a response, and promptly stood.

 

“Well, Lestrade has another case for me, it seems. Obviously I can't turn it down. Shall I tell him that you're a bit _tied up_ with things and you won't be joining me? I think that's reasonable.” He grinned. “I'll text you when I'm on my way home.” He strode towards the bedroom door.

 

John began to panic. “Wait, seriously? Sherlock, you're _seriously_ going to leave me here! No!” he cried as Sherlock closed the door behind him. _“GET BACK HERE, YOU PRAT!”_ His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened; he hadn't meant to say that.

 

The door creaked open and Sherlock poked his head back in. “Did you just call me a 'prat', John?” When John didn't respond, he walked over to him and leaned over him, nearly brushing his lips against his ear as he whispered, “I did hear you, John. There's no point trying to fight it now.” A shiver shot down John's spine when he repeated, “Did you just call me a 'prat'?”  
  


“Yes,” he breathed.

 

“Well then.” He straightened quickly and reached for the middle bedside table's drawer.

 

“Just how many hidden toy spots do you have, Sherlock?” he groaned, throwing his head back into the pillows.

 

“Well this is more of an all-purpose kind, so it doesn't need hiding.” He pulled out a web camera and clipped it, backwards, to the top of his computer. Then he pawed through the box of toys and pulled out a chain. John's eyes widened, and Sherlock winked at him. “You'll like this.” He reached for his left wrist. “Don't struggle.” He uncuffed his wrist from the headboard.

 

With a few more maneuvers, Sherlock had cuffed John's hand to his ankle. There was enough tension to keep him from freeing himself, and enough slack for him to...

 

“Touch yourself, John,” he murmured, tapping on his keyboard. The light on the web cam came on, and Sherlock clicked “RECORD”.

 

“You are kidding me,” he replied, jangling the chain. He glanced past Sherlock, too embarrassed to look at him or the camera. When there was no response, John closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “You're serious. Bloody hell.”

 

“I could always take a rest from work and get you started.”

 

John perked up. “Oh?”

 

Sherlock was at hit side and had his hand wrapped around his cock before John could go any further.

 

“Oh _fuck me,_ ” he groaned, thrusting his hips up as his erection sprang up again in Sherlock's palm.

 

“I would love to,” replied Sherlock, tightening his grip and stroking his thumb across the head. “But I'm just so busy, you see...”

 

“Not- _nngh_! not too busy to- _aaaah!_ take care of me, though?”

 

“Well of course, you've set me back quite a bit.” He leaned forward and swirled his tongue over the tip of his cock, and John squeaked in surprise.

 

His lips slid down as he swiftly took John into his mouth, right to the back of his throat. John swore loudly and grabbed Sherlock's curls. He held his head steady as he thrust into his mouth, hard, throbbing, and desperate for another orgasm. Sherlock let him do it for a few moments more before pulling back and stepping away. He sat in front of his laptop again.

 

“Your turn, John. Touch yourself.”

 

The words came out a whisper but they echoed in John's ears as a clear order. Moaning, he began to pump his cock. Recording or not, his spit-slicked cock was begging to cum. He threw his head back and imagined it was Sherlock's mouth on him again, sucking him down and touching his cock to the back of that throat. He pictured himself grabbing Sherlock by the hair again and thrusting into his mouth, with his lips bobbing on his shaft. He groaned, out of frustration, out of want, out of pleasure.

 

“Sh..Sherlock...”

 

“Yes,” he whispered, sliding a palm over his own clothed erection. “Say my name again.”

“Sherlock...” He tightened his grip and stroked faster.

 

“Again, John.”

 

 _“Sherlock.”_ He grabbed his right nipple and tweaked it, causing him to jerk and twitch all the way down to his toes.

 

“Louder, John.”

 

“God, Sherlock, _Sherlock, fuck me SHERLOCK!”_ he shouted, arching up. John cried out his name, stammered it as his cock shot spurts of sticky cum all over his belly and hand. He twisted and moaned and shuddered for a long moment before falling back down again. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he shivered with aftershocks. Sherlock wiped him down and every touch, even the gentlest, made him twitch and squirm.

 

John lay there for some time, in a dazed doze, before he realized he couldn't hear Sherlock typing anymore. He lifted his head, with some difficulty, to catch the man just gazing at him. He smiled sleepily, and was gifted with a grin in return.

 

“You're all done working, then?”

 

“I was done half an hour ago. You fell asleep for a bit.”

 

“How long was I out?”

 

“45 minutes or so.”

 

He turned and rubbed his eye on his shoulder. He yawned. Then he frowned. Then John's eyes widened and he said, “Fuck, Lestrade!”

 

“I don't think he's quite my type, John,” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“No no, the case, Sherlock! Lestrade- you said he had a case for you-!”

 

“Oh, right. No, that was Molly, actually, confirming the scars on the body from the last case; surgery, not track marks.” He grinned. “Did you honestly think I'd leave you like that?”

 

“You...”

 

“Ah ah ah! Careful what you say.”

 

“...wanker.” He glared at him. “You bloody wanker.”

 

“After that recording, who wouldn't be?” He rubbed the front of his trousers, causing John to blush.

 

“You're not going to sit there and wank to it in front of me, are you?”

 

“What a marvelous idea, John. I honestly hadn't consider it.”

 

John groaned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see here? Come follow me on my tumblr at http://synesthesiademon.tumblr.com/ ! I usually write for Penis Fridays, and I currently only focus on writing Johnlock.


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